


Je Ne Comprends Pas Bien

by BellaKatrina



Series: La Belle Dame [2]
Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 12:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21197975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaKatrina/pseuds/BellaKatrina
Summary: He stares over at Tash, and he almost doesn't recognize her. So tiny, so still, so full of secrets.





	Je Ne Comprends Pas Bien

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to La Belle Dame Sans Regrets. Somewhat AU last 2 episodes of S2.
> 
> (And yes, the titles in this series are all from a Sting song.)

In the aftermath, he can't remember what had happened. He has zero recollection of what happened from the time he heard the gun fire and saw Tash slump against the wall, to the point where time starts back up and there's a short but bossy nurse, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, a medically inclined version of Tash, looking at him hard and suggesting that he might want to at least wash his hands, even if he's not going to take the time to scrub the dried blood off in a shower and put on clean clothes.

Mutely, he shakes his head. He's not leaving Tash's bedside for _anything_, not now that it's over. A few months ago, yes, he would have placed a reluctant kiss on her forehead and, with a whispered word or two of support, gone back to work, doing his best to cover Weller and Jane alone in her absence, acting as Patterson's shoulder of support and sounding board. A few weeks ago, it wouldn't have even been a question, his team wouldn't have had him, couldn't have used him, regardless of how badly he needed to be there, avenging her. Now, now though, it doesn't matter. It's over. Weller, Jane, and Patterson – and the rest of the FBI – just need to bring Shepherd in. They don't need him for that. No one needs him, other than Tash. And she _does_ need him, even if she can't voice it right now; the steady beep of the machines surrounding her voice it for her.

The nurse sighs, and brings over a small package of wet wipes. With a sigh and a surprisingly gentle touch, she wipes his face clean, then his left hand. If she's startled by the lack of ring on his hand, he chooses to not notice. She directs that hand to Tash's arm, and only then pulls his right hand free of Tash's hand and cleans both of their hands free of Tash's blood. It's clear that the nurse understands; Reade would love to know if he'd explained it to her during that missing time, or if she's seen other agents come in with wounded partners, if she's dealt with Jane and Weller in the aftermath of some of their injuries.

Not that he's comparing Tash and himself to Jane and Weller, that would be _ridiculous_ and misleading, for a variety of reasons, but he knows how they cling to each other, magnetic forces at play he doesn't entirely understand. It's not the same, yet, today, right here, right now – it is.

She looks so goddamn _small_ in the bed; it's frightening. She's a force bigger than life, all kinetic energy and movement and swishing ponytail and laughter; she always seems like she's seven feet tall and bulletproof, even though he knows she's tiny, he's known it from the first time she hugged him. She was in heels and up on her toes, and even then, he felt like he had to bend over slightly and support her lower back so that she wouldn't have to somehow levitate in the air to reach him; she would have, if that's what it would have taken to wrap her arms around his neck and shoulders. He's known it from the first time that she fell asleep on his couch, curled against him, snoring through Sunday night football – and despite her protests, she _does_ both snore and doze during her beloved games. He's known it from the first time she snuggled against him in bed, the aftermath of a case that left them both so shaken that they couldn't rest without seeing the victims from behind closed eyes, and they'd resorted to holding each other close, just to make it through the night, platonic in their trauma. He's known it since that night several weeks ago, the night he's tried his best to downplay in his memory, the night that wasn't quite as platonic. It's not that he's trying to forget it, but he refuses to let the memory of Tash get tied so very intimately to the memories of Coach Jones and that video. Tash is someone that Jones can never, ever touch in any way, despite everything; he refuses to let that happen.

The nurse is talking to him again, and Reade has to drag himself out of his mind and really focus on what the woman's saying, instead of his jumbled thoughts and Tash's continued breathing. "I'm sorry, what?"

She smiles softly at him, clearly expecting that he'd not been paying attention. "Your phone's been ringing for the last twenty minutes, sir. Now that we've got her stabilized and I've got you cleaned up a bit, maybe there are some people that have been looking for updates?"

Started, he pulls his phone from his pants pocket. There are twenty missed calls, half from Patterson, half from Jane, but only one voicemail, left seventeen minutes earlier. Frowning, he punches the necessary buttons to get Jane's message.

"Hey, Reade, sorry for calling yet again, but…" She trails off, and he knows that she must have been biting her lip, deep in thought. She does it all the time. He's caught Weller staring at that unconscious gesture a million times, to the point that her little lip bite has become endearing to him as well. "It's not my place to say anything, Tasha swore me to secrecy…" Her voice trails off again, and he can't imagine what she's about to say, as Tash does _not_ keep secrets from him, especially secrets that _Jane_ holds for her instead of him. That sort of thing does _not_ happen. Jane takes a deep breath. "But I don't know where the EMTs took her and I don't know how to get a hold of her doctors and I don't know if this is info that they need to treat her, but it might be, and I'd hate for some sort of problem to happen because I didn't tell and I know you're there with her, wherever. When they ask about any medications she's on, tell them she had an abortion a few weeks ago. Something with misopro-something. Tell her we all send our love and we'll visit later."

She'd hung up without another word, seemingly unaware of the bomb she'd just dropped on him.

"Sir!" The nurse touches his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He almost doesn't recognize his own voice, it's shaky and thin. "I know I told you she's not taking any meds, but she did. Seems she had an abortion recently?"

He stares over at Tash, and he almost doesn't recognize her. So tiny, so still, so full of secrets; the complete opposite of _his_ Tash. He'd not even known that she was seeing anyone; she _always_ tells him about her new beaus, even when he begs to not know the details. He wonders which careless jackass caused this mess, and why she'd not said a word to him about any of it, and it dawns on him why. He'd barely started pulling himself together then, just a few weeks into his recovery, too wrapped up in his own traumas and problems to be able to afford to give her even a scrap of his time and focus – and she'd known he wasn't capable of being there for her, physically and emotionally. He hates himself for putting her in this situation; he's been so unreliable lately, she'd had to go through it alone. She should never have to go through anything alone, and it's his fault. This is where his downward spiral, his drug use, has brought them. He's been clean for slightly over a month and routinely going to meetings and working the program and talking with Dr. Sun, and while he's been committed to staying clean, he promises himself right then – _never_ again.

The nurse pulls her hand away from him like she's been burned, but he doesn't take it personally; she's reaching for Tash's medical chart as fast as she can, before frowning. "Chemical or surgical?"

"Chemical, I think. Does miso-something sound familiary to you?" It doesn't sound right to him. Nothing seems right to him. He runs his thumb over her knuckles, knowing from experience that she finds it calming and soothing.

She nods. "Yeah, thanks for letting us know. I need to go find her doctor. I'll be _right back_."

He's unsure if that's supposed to be a threat, a warning that she'll be right back and that Tash had better be in the same shape that she'd left her, or a promise that he won't be alone with his thoughts for any longer than necessary. He doesn't blame her; he knows the statistics, knows what happens to women left alone with their partners sometimes. It's not the nurse's fault that she knows the stats but doesn't know that's not the situation here. Tash is his partner but not like _that. _He'd never do anything to hurt her. The thought makes him wince. He'd never do anything to hurt her from here on out. His actions have already hurt her enough. Alone. He can't believe she'd gone through that _alone._ He should have been there. Having Jane there does _not_ count, not in his book. Jane doesn't know Tash like he does, doesn't know the front she must have been putting up to keep looking strong, how scared she must have been. _Alone_.

Reade takes her hand back up in his, noticing again just how small it seems in comparison to his own, noticing how blurry it suddenly seems. He wipes at his face with his left hand, then lets it fall to her face, brushing her jaw with his thumb. "I'm here, Tash. You're not alone. I'm not leaving you alone again. I'm so sorry, Tash. So sorry."

\- - - - - - - - - -

Patterson shows up a little after ten. Tash is still not awake, and he's still not moved, still holding her hand as if he's the only thing anchoring her to the world. They don't speak for the first few minutes, she just stands there, one hand on his shoulder in support, and one hand over her mouth. He thinks she must be shocked by how bad Tash looks; so small, so still, so pale.

"It's not as bad as it looks." He finally offers, after he's thought of a hundred different things to say, thought of them and discarded them all. "Three units of blood, twenty-eight stitches." He'd counted every one at least a hundred times. Twenty-eight more times he's failed her.

"It looks bad." Patterson doesn't beat around the bush, and he appreciates it. "But our girl's tough."

"Damn straight." He proudly responds. His Tash is tougher than anything any Sandstorm punk can throw at her, tougher than anything life can throw at her.

"You look like hell." Patterson's words don't hold any censure, not like the doctors' and nurses' comments.

He sighs, exhausted. "It's been a long day. You know that."

"Tomorrow's going to be longer. Jane and I are bunking in Roman's old cell for the night. The Secret Service came and got Weller." Patterson finally leans forward, and touches Tasha for the first time, brushing her hair off of her forehead. "Pellington's replacement is flying in first thing in the morning. You going to come into the office for a bit when she gets here?"

"Depends on when Sleeping Beauty here decides to wake up. Maybe after lunch." He's not going anygoddamnwhere as long as she's still unconscious. If she's awake though, that's a different story. He knows she's going to demand that he stop hovering and get back to work, as much as it might kill him to leave her. He also knows he won't be gone long; without him there to physically stop her from doing it, she's going to pull out all the lines and monitors and check herself out against all medical advice and common sense just as quickly as she can. 

Patterson just makes a slight humming noise of agreement. "I stopped by your apartment and picked up some clothes and things for you. New director and all, I know you'll want to make a good impression." She gestures to the garment bag and small valise she'd placed by the door.

"You're not going to try to talk me into getting cleaned up tonight?" He's slightly surprised; he can smell the blood, sweat, lead, and smoke. He can also smell a slightly salty scent, but refuses to think about the tears.

"If you want to take a shower, I'll stay here with her." Patterson offers, turning her gaze on him. "But I can think of a better use of your time if you do decide to take a break."

"Food?" Reade shakes his head. "Not hungry."

She smiles slightly at him. "Of course you aren't. Who would be after the day we've had? But there's a meeting in the hospital chapel in ten minutes."

"A meeting? With whom?" As soon as he's said it, he understands. "Oh. A _meeting_."

"You should go. It's AA instead of NA, but you should go. If you don't, I'll go and see if I can't get them to relocate to up here or have someone come over and check in with you later tonight. But you might be more comfortable there." Again, her voice holds no censure, no judgment. "I swear to you, Edgar, nothing will touch her while I'm here. I'm armed, I'm jumpy and in 'shoot first and ask questions later' mode, and my security detail's in the hallway." She grins slightly at him. "Weller insisted, for as long as Shepherd's still running around loose on the world."

"Well of course he did." Reade's not the tiniest bit surprised that Weller's put protection on Patterson, they all know he thinks of her as another little sister; he'd hate to think how many agents have been assigned for when Jane leaves the safety of Roman's cell.

"Take the elevator down to the first floor, follow the signs to the chapel. You _know_ she's safe with me, and you and I both know that they've got her drugged to the gills and she's not waking up until tomorrow sometime."

"I don't know." It's not that he doesn't want to go to meeting, it's that he doesn't want to leave her. He'd promised himself that he wasn't leaving her.

"You'll do her more good in the long run by going than by staying."

He can tell that Patterson's not trying to emotionally manipulate him, she's stating a simple fact, but it's like a punch to his gut on top of the punches Jane had already thrown. She's not wrong, and he knows he doesn't have a choice but to break another promise. "I'll be back in an hour."

\- - - - - - - - - -

When he gets back, Patterson's still in the exact same spot that she was when he'd left. Nothing's changed, other than him, new tear tracks on his face that he'd not been able to scrub away with the cheap paper towel in the public bathroom closest to the chapel, mostly because he'd not been able to look at himself in the mirror. He never is after a meeting.

If Patterson notices, she doesn't say anything. She waits for him to take his seat next to Tash's side again and grab her hand before speaking. "You missed a good gossip session."

"Oh, I bet. You two love your gossip sessions." The fact that he's able to laugh lets him know that she'd been right, he'd needed the meeting. He feels lighter, less guilty. "Tash telling you all about what went down between Roman and Jane?"

"Nope." Patterson giggles slightly. "I've been telling her all about what she's missed with regards to what's going down between _Weller_ and Jane. The Secret Service _interrupted_ them, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge."

He stares at her, dumbfounded for a second, before recovering. "You're making that up, just trying to entice Tash to wake up. Nothing happened."

"I've got the security footage that says it did." Patterson winks at him. "Seriously, Edgar. We're talking hands inappropriately touching knees, hands in hair, full-on kissing. They were so distracted that they didn't even hear the guys entering the cell! They were straight-up making out in Roman's cell."

"No, nuh-uh." He shakes his head. "Didn't happen. Mr. Control Freak and _Jane_ of all people not hearing someone coming up on their six? _No way_. You're imagining things. When's the last time you got some sleep?"

"Swear to God." Patterson holds up her hand in a mockery of the Boy Scout salute. "I'm positive that if the agents hadn't come to get Weller, _things_ would be _happening_ right now, probably on Roman's cot, which is both icky and _hilarious_."

"You're telling me that the Secret Service is cockblocking Weller?" He starts cracking up before he even finishes the question.

Patterson blushes at his phrasing, but nods, eyes glowing with amusement. "Totally. So he has to forgive Tash and me for interrupting them at the bar, right?"

They both start laughing, then look guiltily at each other and back at Tash. She's not moved; it's like she's not heard them. He's not sure if he'd prefer that she's heard them and is incapable of responding, or if she's so deeply out that she's beyond being able to hear them. The latter seems slightly preferable, but it scares him to think of her being that far gone from him.

"They've given her the good stuff." It's like Patterson's psychic and knows what he's thinking. "They gave me the really good drugs when I was here, and I wasn't as badly hurt. They're not going to let her feel any pain, Reade."

He smiles sadly at her. "Not all pain's physical."

"If it's what they gave me, I didn't have any bad dreams." She frowns. "Any bad memories."

It reassures him slightly, but mostly it just worries him. Tasha's bad memories tend to not be hers, but his. If the drugs aren't working, if she's not hearing them laugh and gossip about Jane and Weller, if she's stuck reliving his bad memories or stuck in reliving her own traumas that he's contributed to, it's just another failure on his part.

Patterson stays a bit longer, but they can't recover the jovial mood from earlier. He's stuck worrying about Tash, and she's stuck in her own mind. He finally suggests that she might find some peace by visiting the chapel, even if it's not for a meeting or service, just sitting on her own and meditating a bit. The look that she throws him lets him know _that_ won't be happening, but she does seem more open to listening to his idea of going back to the NYO. He'd meant so that she could get some rest in her make-shift home for the night, but they both know she won't be sleeping.

He won't either.

\- - - - - - - - - -

It doesn't dawn on him until later, much _much_ later, an embarrassingly long amount of time, that he's got more to be sorry about than just not being there for Tash when she needed him.

"This job, it takes everything from us, but it gives back too." He'd blindly said. "It gives us each other." He'd stupidly said. He'd ironically talked about the job giving them a family.

Family, that's what they are. They're a family at Weller's place, celebrating their win.

Family, he tells Tash, wrapping his arms carefully around her as they watch Patterson and Weller hug for what has to be the fiftieth time that day. 

That's when it hits him like a bolt out of the blue, mid-word, and he trails off.

Family.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Oh.

There's a pain in his chest that he can't explain away due to injury and stress. There's another gut jab, even more painful than those delivered by Jane and Patterson, and he's the one responsible for it this time. This job, it's taken _everything_ from him in a way that he'd not even understood earlier.

He understands, then. He understands in a way he'll never say to another person, in a way he can't talk about. It's not just that he'd been too unreliable for her to turn to. He'd been so very unreliable that he'd been the one to put her in that position in the first place. It's cause and effect and he's responsible for all of it.

No wonder she'd turned to Jane instead of him. He owes a debt to Jane he'll never be able to pay. He owes a debt to Tash too, one he'll never, ever, _ever_ even come close to being able to think about paying. She'd carried his burdens for so long, carried his guilt and his shame, his secrets, she'd carried him, and then she'd carried another of his shameful, guilty secrets in a way he'd never once even thought about, not really. Not with her.

He remembers Coach Jones, talking to the guys back when he was in his mid-teens. It'd been a not-good talk, one that embarrassed all of them. They'd talked about wrapping it up, not doing anything to have a good time at some poor girl's expense, about not making mistakes, about not letting someone get her hooks into you and owning your ass for eighteen years. They'd talked about being fine, upstanding men of good character. Ironic, and horribly hypocritical in retrospect, but it had stuck with him. He's been a fine, upstanding, _careful_ man of good character for his entire life, except for one night. Of course that one night was with a woman he loves more than anything, even if he's not officially "in love" with her. Of course she's already got her hooks into him, has owned him since the first week they met, will own him for eighteen years and more, or however long it is until they're both dead. Of course that one night had a one in a million chance, and they lost that lottery draw. Of course he'd not been able to keep his Tash from being touched by his memories of Coach. Another failure from that night that he can't account for.

He remembers the few times they'd talked about kids. She'd brought it up when she found out she was going to be an aunt for the first time, in the second year of their partnership. They both laughed at the idea of ever having kids, not in their line of work, both adamantly against the idea. He'd brought it up again last year, four weeks into his fling with Sarah, when he'd started struggling with the idea that if he wanted something long-term with her, that he'd need to face the idea of instant fatherhood to Weller's ten-year-old nephew. Tash'd still been dead-set against the idea of parenthood, even when he was contemplating it. Fresh off of finding out about Allie, they'd discussed it a final time, both horrified by the idea of having kids while Sandstorm's a threat. They'd agreed that they should keep an eye on Weller, as he had to be losing his mind over the idea. They'd agreed that it was a horrible, foolhardy decision, but it could have been worse – Allie counted as a civilian in the fight against Sandstorm. A US Marshal, yes, but she wasn't part of the active fight against Shepherd. If it had been _Jane_ that Weller had knocked up_…_ they'd shared a dour look and a drink at that point, and let the conversation drop.

The thought that it had been Tash, at least for a few weeks, and it's his fault… his heart seizes at the idea, and there's a cold clutch of fear around his spine.

He's not mad at _her_, not mad that she didn't ask what he wanted to do; _of course_ he's on board with her decision. It's the same decision he would have made, the same decision he would have insisted upon. Of course they couldn't bring a child into this mess. Of course _she_ did what _they_ would have done, if he'd been there. Of course he'd never expect her to be burdened by his mistake. Of course they couldn't have a child conceived _that_ night, another innocent polluted and contaminated by Jones. Of course she couldn't have let anything pull her out of the fight; they all know that the only reason they survived is because Weller, Jane, Patterson, and Tash held strong when everything and everyone else fell apart. If Tash had been sidelined because of his stupidity… he can't even think about it. They'd all be dead, and not just the team. Knowing what he knows now about Phase II... he shudders. Shepherd would have wiped out the Eastern seaboard and thrown the country into chaos, and he would have been somewhat responsible for it happening because he's forgotten a condom. 

He's mad at _himself_ for putting her in that situation, he's mad at himself for not being there. He should have known better that night. He should have known in the weeks that followed. He should have known. He should have been aware enough to know without her telling him. _Of course_ he should have known. He should have been the one holding her hand and promising that nothing was going to change between them, because of course nothing has changed between them other than the fact that he's now aware of his stupidity and faults. It should have been him, not Jane.

So when Jane shows up at Weller's place not that much longer after his realization, interrupting their celebration, he's ready to leave. They'd all heard what Weller had _finally_ admitted and said out loud on the open comms, after all of this time, they all knew about the interrupted kiss, they all know why she's there – and it's _not_ to party with the team, despite what she might say as she gives a weak protest. He _owes_ Jane, owes her in a way he can never repay, but the least he can do is clear out and not interrupt her this time. He can give her this, at least.

It's inappropriate behavior on his part, he knows that, but as soon as she shows up and Weller takes her out into the hallway, Reade walks into Weller's bedroom and empties the condoms from his wallet on top of the quilt. He doesn't have many, but three's better than none, he knows that for a bitter fact; he also knows that Weller will be so distracted by Jane he won't remember the lesson he should have learned the hard way with Allie.

He quickly walks back out to the living room and hands Tasha her jacket before grabbing his own. "We're leaving."

Tasha and Patterson both look at him like he's crazy. "But the party!" Tasha starts to say.

"We're _leaving_." He says again. "Give them this, we owe it to them. If you want to tease them, do it tomorrow."

They make a series of bad excuses, or at least he and Tasha do; Patterson doesn't even try.

"Want a ride?" He offers Patterson when they get back down to his car.

She takes a deep breath, seemingly gathering her thoughts. "There's something I need to do. Alone. Thanks, but I can walk."

He never can understand exactly how women can communicate without a word, but he knows that's what Tash and Patterson are doing when they just stare at each other for a few seconds. Tash finally nods, then fiercely hugs Patterson. "Take care, then. Call us later, if you need to, okay? Call _any_ time, we're here for you."

"Will do." Patterson sniffs against Tash's neck, to Reade's confusion. Once Tash releases her, Patterson throws herself into his arms, and he's reminded again that she's just as tiny as Tash. She'd almost single-handedly saved their world today, just her and her brain, and he's astonished by how powerful these women are. _Again_. He's reminded of the fact frequently, but sometimes the reminder is a shock to him. She's just as strong as the other woman leaning against his side now, as the woman upstairs with Weller, just in a different way.

She releases him, and starts walking down the street.

"Is she okay?" He's not sure. 

"No." Tasha leans more heavily against his side. "But she will be. David's buried about four blocks from here. Oww." It's the first time he's heard her make a sound of pain all day.

"Are you okay?" He helps her into the car before she can answer, buckling her seat belt for her. It's the least he can do.

When he gets in, she finally admits what he's known for the last hour. "I could use another pain pill. Or two. I'm hurting pretty bad."

"Yeah, well, tell me something I don't know." He carefully pulls out of the parking spot, heading towards his place. "When we get home, I'll make you some soup and you can have a pill."

"I'd like that." She leans her forehead against the window, staring out at the city around them. About a block before they get home, she turns to face him. "Did you mean that, when you said to tell you something that you don't know?"

"Yeah, but there's not much I don't know." He takes advantage of the fact that they're at a red light to look over and grin at her. 

"You'd be surprised, I'm sorry to say." She grins back. "But I should wait for us to get back to your place, you're likely to wreck the car if I tell you while you're driving. The light turned green fifteen seconds ago, by the way."

"I knew that; I was just waiting in case someone ran it." He tries to cover the fact that he'd missed the change. "And you have _nothing_ to be sorry about, okay? Don't ever apologize to me for _anything."_ He wonders if she's going to tell him what he's not supposed to know, that he's utterly failed her in every way possible. In a way, he hopes she does; it'll be proof enough that he's not _that_ man any more, that he's recovered enough for her to recognize that she _can_ depend upon him again.

"Oh, don't I?" She laughs. "To start with, I'm the one who got into your Godiva collection, _sorry_." The tone of her voice is 100% pure Tash 'sorry not sorry'; he's well familiar with it.

"Damnit, Tash." He half-heartedly complains; if she wanted premium chocolate, all she'd have to do is say the word and he'd buy out the damn store for her. He owes her that much, at a minimum.

"Yeah, well, I had a craving for it, and you left it behind when you were on leave."

If he hadn't known, if Jane hadn't clued him in, he never would have been able to guess why there's a note of something akin to sadness in her voice when she says craving. His hands flex around the steering wheel. "Just candy, I'll buy more, and you're welcome to that too. You tell me the next time you have a craving, for anything." He kinda hopes she's going to tell him she wants to try again, this time on purpose. 

She doesn't say anything, waiting until they're safely parked and he's helping her out of the car before she grins up at him again. "Oh, and Keaton propositioned me today."

"He fucking did _what_." He doesn't recognize his voice at the moment, a low growl that's far more like Weller than him.

"Yep," she wraps her arm around his waist and leans against him. "Wants me to come join the CIA."

"Oh." That's not at all what he'd thought she meant, and he relaxes. "Well, of course you're not going to do that."

She hesitates slight and he tenses again.

She seems to sense his sudden panic, and shakes her head. "Nah, not without you and Patterson, at least. Got to keep the family together. So… about that…"

His heart races at that lead in. "Yeah?"

"I know something you don't know." She sing-songs at him as they walk down the street towards his place.

"You are _such_ a brat." If she ever did go to work with Keaton, Reade gives them a week – max – before they're at each other's throats. Less, if Keaton had to work with her full-time and didn't just see her in meetings and briefings. 

"Yeah, but you love me anyhow." She says it as if she's completely certain of the fact.

It makes his heart hurt a little more; he may have hit rock bottom and given her every reason in the world to not trust him, but at least he's never given her any serious reason to doubt _that_. He still doesn't know what he's done to deserve her. He just makes a hum of agreement rather than risk opening his mouth and spilling out all of his thoughts.

She laughs. "So going back to what I know and you don't… are you _sure_ you want to know?"

"For heaven's sake, just tell me, woman."

"Just so you know, I got this one straight from the source. You know how chatty Patterson can get when we have our little gossip sessions and I bring out her favorite drinks…" She smiles at him, and he can't help but smile back. There's a light and laughter in her eyes that's been missing for a while; it's a good look for her. Her next words are more sing-song than spoken. "Roman and Patterson, sitting in a tree…"

Just like before, the horrible pain comes from something he's done to himself. This time, though, it's not an emotional pain and it's not in his heart and gut. It's in his nose, from where he's street sign. 

Tasha's laughter makes the bloody nose worth it.


End file.
